Remi-chan's Writing Snippets~

[Remi-chan]

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Prophet In Indigo

The Red-eyed royalty taste their first bite of insurgency. A sour flavor, I'm sure. On thrones of those below, they thought themselves above. Above consequence, above rules, above the very laws they see enforced. A self-sustaining charade built on nepotism and blood money. An illusion that can be broken both with force, and shattered with cunning.

N O W . I T . B R E A K S . A N D . I T . S H A T T E R S .

Oppressed lambs rebel against the watchful shepherds, for their vigil has waned. They thought the silent sickness of subterfuge would cease in their erudition. Perhaps foolishly thinking the stringed sufferers had lost any will to fight back? Whatever the reason, the fools have slipped. As they scramble to undo what can no longer be undone, those such as yourself cut ties with their hedonistic hubris and seek perhaps to proffer aid to the cause you once ignored.

If that is so, then the choice is as follows:

March with the ignorant, and play puppet to the great stage painted red. Dance with the awoken, and play part to the revolution to come. The choice was not and shall not ever truly be yours, that is illusion. Freedom is little more than fleeting synaptical copium to huff when there is no other way to endure. Your choices are already made, fate has taken the liberty of choosing for you.

What choice you will make I would not and cannot divine. I would not as-- false as it may be- your illusion of choice is something you depend on. I cannot as I may be blamed for the result you inevitably choose when things perchance go awry.

In life, and in death- fate is our true warden. Prisoners to its strings, locked in its cage, forced to perform upon its stage as marionettes.

All cogs of a meticulously engineered timepiece designed to keep a fragile device from falling apart.

NOW WAKE.

All I have just said is a lie, utter nonsense. You began to believe it, didn't you? It made you angry, you felt upset.

Put aside that dread. Fate is a falsehood in itself. No navigator of such a wheel would allow predestination of my variety if a change in the path of time could upset the median. I am no oracle, only a diviner of the paths yet to be explored. I can only see one future... That is, until others are considered.

Your choice will still not truly matter, a split will occur, fracturing both you and me and all here into two seperate verses. One where you chose to flee into the warmth of ignorance's cup, and the other where you bravely face the spectre of death.

But this preamble has overstayed its welcome. What matters is that the choice is made, not how it is made.

S L E E P . O R . S U F F E R . . W H I C H . S H A L L . I T . B E ?

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